


The World Needs More Doyle

by afleetoffoxes



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Doyle Appreciation Week, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 05:38:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9977975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afleetoffoxes/pseuds/afleetoffoxes
Summary: "Don't. Move."It was an order, a hard slap against Doyle's face.





	

**Author's Note:**

> No context. I don't even know what this is or where this came from or what it's a part of.
> 
> It's for Doyle Appreciation Week though. And for Les.
> 
> P.S. Wtf are titles

In that instance, all Donny wanted to do was comfort Locus, though he knew that would only be met with anger. He was not a man kind to the ways of warmth and comfort and gentleness; but Donny was. Locus would pitch at a simple hug, blanch at the mention of one. So Doyle didn’t move to hold him. Instead, he leaned to press a kiss against his helmet, the metal cool under his lips. He felt Locus flinch but otherwise he remained still under Doyle’s mouth.

When he pulled away, he wished more than anything to be able to read Locus’ face, to know that he wasn’t _angry_ with Doyle. Or worse, disgusted. But Locus didn’t move, gave no indication to his mood. It sent a shiver of anger down his spine and - coupled with the liquid courage in his blood - made him unafraid.

He reached for the helmet and there were suddenly warm hands on his wrists, freezing them in midair. He could see then, in that odd moment of concealed vulnerability, that Locus was _terrified_ of removing his helmet. He knew it in the almost imperceptible shake of his hands – the same shake Doyle felt when he was forced to hold a weapon – and in the tension of his shoulders – the same tension Doyle felt when hundreds of eyes were on him. It was all there.

Doyle did not want it there.

Locus, his guard, his protector, the scariest man he’d ever met, was afraid of something. It shook Donny to his very core that this powerful man could feel fear.

He wanted to ease that fear; to erase it and make Locus strong again. He wanted Locus to trust that Doyle could do that.

“Locus,” he murmured, his voice barely there.

His guard stayed like that for a long moment, his face unreadable behind his helmet, and Doyle thought he’d ruined whatever bridge they’d built over the sizable gap between them. But the hands on his wrists loosened in increments of millimeters until Doyle’s hands were free. Locus’ hands still hovered, close enough to grab him again but Donny edge closer to the helmet, lays his hands on the hard metal.

He’d never touched the helmet before, the item he’d come to associate as Locus’ face, but it felt they way it looked. Cold, hard, riddled with battle-wear. It was Locus but it wasn’t _Locus_. He tilted it, ever so slightly, exposing the hard lines of a chin, some jaw. Locus’ hands shot to his like lightning but Doyle didn’t stop. He held the helmet in place, the barest hint of Locus’ dark lower lip peaking out from the metal, and ghosted his mouth there. Locus’ jaw lowered just the tiniest bit and Donny brushed their lips together-

The world tilted so abruptly that he worried for a moment that he’d lose his glasses as he was thrown onto his back, his hands ripped from the helmet and pinned again the floor. His head spun but the dark shadow looming over him, straddling his thighs, pulled him back to the surface. The helmet had fallen back to cover Locus’ face but he could see the heaving breaths the man dragged into his lungs like he’d been half-drowned and only just found air again.

“ _Don’t_. _Move_.”

The words were an order, a hard slap against Doyle’s face. Locus’ hands unwound from his wrists, allowing blood to rush back to his hands where he’d squeezed it all away. He didn’t move, didn’t dare _breathe_ , as Locus reached for his helmet and slipped it off.

Seeing his face for the first time was something Doyle could never have prepared for. Locus’ skin was dark and warm though Donny was sure he hardly allowed the sun its grace. His was all strong planes and sharp grey eyes that bore into Donny’s own and he thought he could drown in their stormy depths. But it was the scar, the angry, jagged, ‘x’ carved over the center of his face, that forced the air from Donny’s lungs.

Locus stole what little he had left with a searing press of lips, more of a demand than any intimate gesture. Doyle’s head spun but Locus was hot and liquid against him, molding him under his unforgiving mouth. When Locus finally released his lips, Donny dragged in air in greedy gulps, his mind whirling from alcohol and a lack of oxygen and _Locus_. The mercenary’s mouth didn’t stray far, instead latching onto his jaw, a patch under his ear, his neck, and took the rest of Doyle’s sanity with it.

“ _Locus_ ,” he moaned, his voice pitching in his breathlessness.

He took it for what it was, a plea, and thankfully gave Donny his lips once more. The kiss was less dominating than the last but still hot and eager and it left Doyle’s trousers feeling uncomfortably tight. His hips jerked under Locus’ strong legs and his guard let out a contented hum against his mouth. One of Locus’ hands slid down to cup at Donny’s jaw, holding him gently like he was the most important thing in the world, while the other threaded with his fingers.

Doyle, for his part, realized that he’d been wrong in his assumption that Locus couldn’t be gentle. While his kisses were searing and his hands firm, there was a tenderness to the touches that Doyle hadn’t known Locus possessed.

The kiss broke once more so that Locus could trail kisses down Donny’s neck, each one making the man shiver as his collar was pushed aside. His free hand moved to Locus’ chest and ran along to his back, feeling the hard muscles under his hands.

Suddenly Locus’ hands were the one’s moving and traveling south, pressing down Donny’s torso and tugging his shirt out of his trousers. With it rucked up around the man’s middle, Locus was free to spread his warm hands along Doyle’s stomach and chest and Doyle let out a whimper.

“Locus, _please_ ,” he said, his voice half a whisper and certainly half a moan.

The growl Locus pressed into his clavicle was decidedly nonthreatening and sounded much more like an agreement to Donny. He felt Locus’ arms slide under his body, encircling him and pulling him closer than the two had even been. He lifted Doyle like that, carrying him through the hall and into the bedroom. They collapsed there together, Locus’ strong arms still holding Doyle and keeping them close. Admittedly, Donny liked the proximity very much when he rocked his hips into Locus’ and dragged a hiss from him.

Locus wormed one arm out and immediately set to work unbuttoning Doyle’s shirt while Doyle tore at the tie in Locus’ hair so he can feel the silken strands between his fingers. The growl that ripped through the mercenary as his mouth dived to one of Donny’s nipples made him think of a hungry animal, eager to feed on his fresh kill. The fair man let out a broken groan as he felt Locus’ tongue lavish his sensitive skin and his fingers trembled in his dark tresses.

He withdrew his fingers, letting inky hair fall and tickle his chest. The sensations were maddening, like every nerve ending had been turned up to the highest setting.

Donny was sure he was going to die before Locus even reached his trousers. Or faint really, whichever came first.

Locus’ fingers danced across the softness of Doyle’s belly and he shivered, arching up into the touch. The arm wound around him shifted to keep the smaller body pressed tight. Donny felt every line of Locus’ body against him, each firm muscle, the solid heat between his legs, through his protector’s lightweight clothes.

He forced his hands into the close space between them and fumbled for the zipper of Locus’ jacket. With a sigh of relief, the fabric opened and Doyle shoved at it, forcing Locus to disentangle them to remove it. Doyle all but moaned at the sight of Locus’ cocoa skin showing through the near see-through wife-beater plastered against those toned muscles Donny had fantasized about.

Locus hummed as he ducked his head and started sucking at a particular spot on Doyle’s throat, the skin feeling tender and sore but oh so good under the pressure. With his hands free and his mouth otherwise occupied, Locus hooked his thumbs into the belt loops of Doyle’s trousers and slid them down as far as he could reach without removing his mouth. Donny wriggled and shifted, moaning heavily when his movement made the suction of Locus’ mouth tug on his tender flesh, until he could kick the garment away.

Donny keened when Locus’ fingers dipped under the waist of his boxer-briefs and brushed against his aching member. Locus released the suction on his neck and Donny felt dizzy at the tingle of blood rushing through the area. His protector made a quiet noise that Donny thought could almost be considered a laugh and his lips curved just so.

Doyle wasn’t sure he’d ever seen something so lovely as that tiny smile.

The feeling of thick, warm fingers wrapping around his cock dragged him away from the thought and Donny gasped sharply. Locus made the quiet laugh again, pressing it into Donny’s cheek as he nosed at the tender flesh he’d just been sucking on.

“So sensitive.” His voice was a soft purr but there was something deeply suggestive under the tone that made Doyle’s cock jump.

“Locus, f-! _Please_ ,” Doyle begged. He didn’t care if it was weak; he needed Locus to move his hand, to give him release. He was not above begging for that.

Locus though, he’d taken on a teasing edge to his tone as he gently squeezed the rigid flesh wrapped in his fist. “Were you about to swear, Doyle?”

A strangled noise escaped Donny’s throat as he squirmed in Locus’ grasp, trying to get some form of release. His entire body felt like it was on fire and it was centered firmly around his aching prick.

“Say it, Doyle,” Locus commanded, his voice dropping and sounding oh so thick and heavy and hot. He gave a single stroke to Donny’s cock, his thumb brushing over the sensitive head-

“ _Fuck, Locus_ ,” Donny keened, bucking his hips to try and prolong the tingling pleasure slinking through his veins.

Locus hummed, seemingly pleased because he finally - _thank the Gods, finally_ \- started moving. He pumped in slow strokes, feeling Locus tease every inch of his cock. It was intense, a kind of pleasure that tried to drown his body and made his blood sing. Doyle had lost track of the noises coming from his mouth but, as Locus picked up speed, he came back to himself. He was moaning heavily, his vision blurring behind his glasses. Then Locus flicked his thumb over the head of his cock, smearing precum and Donny squeezed his eyes shut in pleasure. 

While one hand mercilessly teased his cock, the other had settled on Donny’s face. The edges of Locus’ fingers toyed with the wire frames of Donny’s glasses and his thumb was splayed across his lips. His thumb tugged gently on Donny’s lower lip, like he delighted in the movement, and all the fair man wanted to do was suck on the digit. He flicked his tongue out, tasting the salt of Locus’ skin, and he groaned. A growl escaped Locus and suddenly he was pushing the thumb into Doyle’s mouth.

Donny moaned in delight around the digit, sucking on it as it pressed against his tongue. He felt dirty and hot and so damn _good_. And then Locus grunted and his hand started pumping again. A sharp gasp shot out of Donny and heated sparked in the very core of him. There was a near-painful spike of pleasure as he painted his stomach and underwear in streaks of white. Locus pumped him slowly, milking the orgasm from him as the spike became waves lapping away at his consciousness.

He didn’t remember Locus removing his thumb from his mouth but suddenly he was stroking over Donny’s cheekbone and pressing a kiss to his lips. Donny panted, forcing his eyes open so he could see Locus’ grey eyes watching him, something soft in his gaze that Donny couldn’t begin to put together. He lifted a quivering hand and reached to touch Locus’ face, to feel that cocoa skin under his fingers but Locus stiffened and Donny dropped his hand. It was too soon.

Locus relaxed slowly and he let his fingers drift down Doyle’s cheek, across his jaw and down his neck until they pressed lightly into the tender flesh Locus had been sucking on. With the soreness came a shock of pleasure and Donny rolled his hips. His body met Locus’ and something hard pressed into his hip.

“Oh!” Donny gasped, reaching to remove Locus’ hand from his underwear. “Stand up, stand up!” he commanded shakily. Locus seemed truly stunned for a moment and it made Donny flush brightly. “Do stand up, Locus, would you?” Compliantly, his lover pushed himself off of Donny and climbed off of the bed, watching as Donny followed. 

He felt a mess. He was surely disheveled and flushed, still shaking gently from the rush of his orgasm, and his underwear was beginning to feel sticky. But Locus was still hard and Donny wanted more than anything at that moment to feel the weight of it on his tongue.

With the backs of Locus’ legs pressed against the bed, Donny lowered himself to his knees in front of him. Locus let out a quiet hum when he started putting the pieces together and he unbuttoned his trousers while Donny got comfortable. The trousers slid down and with them, Locus’ underwear and Donny groaned at the sight of Locus’ cock standing before him.

He licked his lips at the sight as a bead of precum rolled down the head and then was pulling the cock into his mouth. The saltiness of precum and sweat flooded his mouth, the flavor mingling on his tongue and making him dizzy with lust. Above him, Locus purred in pleasure and threaded soft fingers through Donny’s unruly hair.

Donny sucked lightly on the head and he was pleased to hear Locus’ breathing hitch ever so slightly. With a hum, Donny took in more, letting Locus’ cock slide along his tongue and to the back of his throat. He swallowed down the urge to gag, laying a hand on Locus’ thigh to stop him from pressing further. It passed quickly, letting Donny relax so he could bob his head along the hard member. His tongue lapped at the underside of Locus’ shaft languidly before taking as much as he could once more. Locus’ hand tightened in his hair and Donny whined, his throat vibrating around the cock in his mouth.

“You’re okay?” Locus asked, loosening his hold to massage his scalp with the tips of his fingers. Donny hummed in response, taking deep pleasure in the way Locus groaned at the feeling. He let Locus slip out so he could run his tongue against the slit, teasing the head lightly as he lapped at the tangy taste there. Donny was spurred on by the low grunts and moans that Locus was making, telling him that he was at least doing something right.

He sucked Locus back into his mouth again, inch by inch, letting his tongue curl around the shaft, curling against the underside. Locus’ fingers had tightened in his hair and his sounds were coming quicker as he suddenly bucked shallowly into Donny’s mouth.

“Doyle, dammit,” Locus swore, bucking again and again, until Donny felt the cock in his mouth twitching. Locus’ cum filled his mouth, the salty, bitterness coating his tongue and making Donny groan as he swallowed it down. He let Locus come down slowly as he cleaned the last of the cum and saliva off of his softening prick.

When Donny’s mouth finally left him, Locus let his knees buckle so he could sit on the bed. His eyes were closed and he was panting and Donny felt accomplished for being able to bring this god of a man down to his level. Suddenly Locus’ long arms snaked around his center and Donny felt himself being hoisted onto the bed. Locus dragged him up to the pillows and settled them down there despite their varying degrees of undress. 

Donny was about to mention it, was about to suggest they get cleaned up and more comfortable when he felt Locus’ lips press against his temple in an oddly affectionate way. He figured he could relax for a moment but that moment turned into several and soon enough Locus’ slowing breaths lulled him to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea.


End file.
